


Snake Eyes

by beautifuldisgrace



Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bastardization Arc, Daddy Issues, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Including the Author, Mommy Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, Suffering, circus shenanigans, clownery, everyone is a clown, not so subtle foreshadowing and symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:55:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27915640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifuldisgrace/pseuds/beautifuldisgrace
Summary: A Hawk and a Viper are dealt two vastly different hands in life but end up rolling the same set of dice. What will prevail in this game of chance--duty, or love?
Relationships: Rafael Hawkes & Stefan Hawkes, Rafael Hawkes & Viscount Redcliff, Rafael Hawkes & William Hawkes, Rafael Hawkes/Belladonna Davenport
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	Snake Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> _Five of Spades - the Card of the Wanderer_

Buttery sunlight filtered through the windows of the Hawkes mansion, flooding the grand room in an ethereal glow to be found only in fairy tales. Rafael hummed to himself as he shifted pages of sheet music around on the piano’s music rack. 

“Rafael! Rafael!” A small, towheaded figure skipped through the doorway, nearly tripping on the polished floors.

“Morning, little bird! What are you doing flying over here?” Rafael asked, amused.

“Mom said I could watch you play piano! And that you could teach me a song!” The younger Hawkes brother looked up at him, his hands clasped together. “Please?”

“Of course! Take a seat,” Rafael said, patting the spot next to him on the bench, which Will took eagerly. “What would you like to hear?”

“I can pick?”

“Why not? You’re the audience, after all.” Rafael reached over to ruffle Will’s already-messy hair.

Will shifted in his spot. “There’s a song that Mom always sings when she tucks me in. The beginning goes something like, ‘When the night is falling-’”

“‘-and you have lost your way,’” Rafael finished. Settling his hands into the right chord positions, he began to sing: “When the rain is storming-”

“And your world’s turned to gray,” Will joined in.

“When the woes wait outside, and you feel you’ve nowhere to hide, oh…”

\---

“RAFAEL HAWKES!”

Rafael sat up, spine almost snapping, at the sound of his father’s voice. _No, no, no_ , he thought. _Father isn’t supposed to be home for another two days._ Pushing himself to his feet, he stood stiffly by the piano bench, shoulders back and hands at his side, just how he had been taught.

Like a bearded god of wrath, Stefan stormed into the room. It was really a march more than anything, a habit left over from his military days. “I leave for a week, and what do I come back to? My son playing pauper’s tunes, his schoolwork a mess. Must I remind you that in order to enter the police academy, you must graduate top of your class?”

“No, Father.” When he was younger, he’d learned an important lesson: never stare directly into the eyes of Stefan Hawkes. Because once they had their hold on you, he would get in your head and tear you down from the inside. So instead, Rafael fixed his gaze upon a small oil painting just above his father’s head. It was a nice painting--a brown and white stallion running through a field of wildflowers. There was something about the evening candlelight that gave it a certain dreamlike quality that he couldn’t quite place.

“Are you listening to me, boy?”

Rafael blinked. “Yes, Father.”

“Then how _the hell_ did you manage to do so dreadfully on your last history exam?” Stefan held up the test paper in question, a mess of blue and black ink. “And here I thought sending you to Kingsfeld Preparatory was the right choice. What are they teaching you at that damned school? I’ll be talking to the headmaster--it’s time to pull you from that train wreck and get you a nice, stern private tutor. I’ll even supervise your studies myself if I have to.”

Rafael’s face whitened. He murmured something, looking at his feet.

“What? Speak up, boy!”

He swallowed with effort. “There will be no need for that. I am doing fine at Kingsfeld. I just had just a bad day, that’s all.”

Stefan walked closer, and it became harder not to meet his eyes. “You cannot _afford_ to have a bad day. Do you know how much one test grade could bring down your class ranking? You foolish boy, I thought I taught you better than this--what have you been doing with your time, if not studying?”

Almost instinctively, Rafael’s eyes flitted to the piano. It would have been imperceptible to most, but Stefan had the observational skills of a police captain. He began to laugh mirthlessly.

“You can play your silly songs tonight, but at the end of the day, you are a Hawkes. Hawkes men don’t spend their time writing pretty tunes, we _fight_. Because if we don’t, someone will be there to snatch everything away from us. _Do you understand?_ ”

For the first time in years, Rafael dared to meet his father’s gaze. Blue clashed with blue as he said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t. Who says I can’t both be a Hawkes and a pianist?”

Stefan’s face hardened into something colder than ice. “ _I_ say so. First thing tomorrow morning, we will be withdrawing you from Kingsfeld. I’ll be staying home until we find you a _suitable_ tutor.” And with that, he turned to leave.

Rafael had no doubt in his mind what “suitable” meant to his father. A strict old man, the meaner the better. He had to say something, he had to do something, he had to _fight_ for himself before his father took everything away from him.

“No,” Rafael said. Stefan spun around.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I’m not withdrawing from Kingsfeld. And I’m not-” his voice wavered momentarily “-I’m not going to follow in your footsteps and enter the police academy. I’m going to become a professional pianist.”

His words hung in the air for far too long, and he was afraid his father wouldn’t reply.

Ten, twenty, thirty seconds passed. Almost a whole minute passed before Stefan opened his mouth to speak.

“Lord, it’s even more serious than I thought. I don’t need to find you a tutor, I need to send you to Bedlam. Next thing you know, my son will be running off to join the circus, ha!”

“ _What?_ Are you listening to me, Father? I’m not crazy! In fact, you’re the one who’s crazy! You’re absolutely delusional!” Rafael shouted, waving his hands around wildly.

His father watched him, his mouth set in a thin line. On his forehead, a thick, purple vein was starting to become visible. 

“Oh, come on! Say something!” Rafael goaded.

Slowly, dangerously, Stefan said, “It’s fortunate your brother is at boarding school full-time. I’d hate to see him have you as his role model.”

“Shut the hell up!” Rafael balled up a sheet of paper and threw it at his father. It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder, much less dramatically than he’d hoped for. “I hate you! I hate this stupid house! And I hate being a Hawkes!”

“So be it! Leave, and never come back! No son of mine would ever run!” Stefan called out. 

Well, he didn’t need to be told twice. Rafael was already running. Running through the hallway lined with portraits of his forefathers, regarding him balefully with their painted eyes. Running away from the suffocating conversation, away from the marble mausoleum he’d used to call a home, away from it all. Away from the expectations, away from the picture-perfect gardens, away from the cold energy that plagued every room in the house, despite the stifling heat of the many fireplaces. Running away from, he admitted, his father.

Did that make him a coward?

_Yes,_ his father’s unpleasant voice whispered in his mind. _Swallow your pride, boy. You know you won’t last more than a few hours before you come crawling back to me_. 

“Get out of my head!” Rafael covered his ears with his hands and sat down on the stone path. The night was eerie; he would have been wandering through a ghost town if not for the streetlamps that shone at regular intervals. So. He was all alone now. What would he do with his newfound freedom?

_I need to find somewhere to stay_. The night chill had begun to settle in, seeping through his schoolboy’s uniform. He cursed under his breath. His jacket was still at the mansion, and the wind cut straight through his thin button-up shirt and wool shorts. Where _could_ he go? Anywhere in the 11th precinct would be an impossibility. His father would have the whole station searching for him.

Rafael crossed his arms and looked up at the sky. It was a new moon, and he was pretty sure it was Polaris above him. He remembered something his aunt Mildred had taught him on a trip to the country years back: “Remember, Polaris will always shine brightly, and it will always shine in the north. If you’re ever wandering, look to Polaris to guide you,” she’d said, pouring him a cup of hot chocolate as they viewed the constellations from her trellis portico. He smiled at the memory. Aunt Mildred had always liked him: she was nothing like her brother-in-law. She was kind-hearted and patient and always had sweets in her pockets for him and Will. Rafael gasped. Didn’t she have another house in the city? And in the 12th precinct, too! He exhaled. She would take him in, no doubt. That was one less thing to worry about.

Now, there was just the matter of finding her house. Navigating the city was perfectly fine during the day, but at night? Rafael would be lucky if he didn’t end up right back at his father’s mansion. He whipped his head around, taking in the three other streets that branched off from the intersection in front of him. None of them seemed familiar, and they all looked identical to one another, from the purple hyacinths in the window boxes of the neat row houses to the tiled patterns of the road.

Left, right, or center? Rafael balled his fist up in frustration, then headed blindly down the middle lane. The evening air was refreshing, but the way a punch to the gut was refreshing. His head spun, but he was suddenly more aware of his surroundings, the dappled shadows on the stone from the trees in their iron grates, the lone cat licking its paw on the street corner, the thunderous voices and footsteps coming from beyond the next intersection.

Footsteps? He skidded to a halt, and all too late, he realized that he wasn’t alone. 

“While you search,” a low voice said, “remember: by the end of the night, the captain will either have that boy’s head on a platter, or he will have ours.”

A chorus of “Yes, sir!”s and “Yes, Lieutenant!”s rang around the neighborhood. In his hiding spot, squished between a garbage container and a holly bush, Rafael clamped a hand over his mouth. His heart lurched into his throat as a parade of brown boots stomped by. The beams of their flashlights searched hungrily for him like wolves on the prowl for blood.

He closed his eyes, wincing as the sharp edges of the holly leaves pricked at his skin. If only his father could see him now, squatting next to a rusting metal box that reeked of spoiled milk and rotten produce. His legs burned from running, but his ears and lungs stayed stubbornly frozen. He wondered, what would he pass out from first? Hypothermia, or exhaustion? 

When the last of the footfalls had faded away, Rafael slipped from his spot and shook his joints free again. Throwing a wary glance over his shoulder, Rafael ran in the direction the patrol had come from. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t have to see another officer that night.

He was not lucky.

He sprinted...headfirst into another group of masked police officers.

Stumbling back in shock, he tripped on the stones lining the road and felt a nasty scrape form on his palms as they collided with the ground. Huffing, he scrambled to his feet and raced off without looking back.

“Don’t let him get away!” someone screamed. Rafael listened for the sound of his pursuers, but he heard no footsteps.

_BANG!_

The bullet ricocheted off a nearby streetlamp and into a window, fracturing it into tiny glass spiderwebs.

Rafael knew that the officers of the APD carried handguns at all times, but he’d rarely seen them in use. The last time had been in primary school, on a class trip to the shopping district, when some drunk man had stolen a knife from a butcher and decided it would be a good idea to take hostages. Police had arrived within fifteen minutes, and the man had been neutralized with a clean shot to the arm.

But Rafael wasn’t a thief. He wasn’t a terrorist. Hell, he’d never even jaywalked. He wasn’t a criminal, so why were they treating him like one?

_BANG!_

_BANG!_

_BANG!_

Rafael veered into a side street, running in zig-zags as he fled. His hair blew into his eyes, and it took all of his willpower not to collapse.

_Just keep moving, just keep moving. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Jump over that fence. Left foot. Right foot. Duck under that branch. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Turn into that alley. Climb up. Climb down. Left foot. Right foot. I can’t breathe. I need to breathe._

He stopped, clutching his chest and inhaling deeply through his mouth. He looked around. Where even was he? The houses here were small, much smaller than he was used to. Electricity was sparser too; the cloak of darkness that covered the neighborhood was interrupted only by a single, flickering lamp. The ground was dotted with broken bottles and suspicious stains. It was the sort of place no sane person would venture into of their own accord, especially at night. Rafael shrugged. If that meant the cops wouldn’t chase after him, he was willing to dive headfirst into the dark.

There was a bridge ahead of him. He told himself he would just make it to the other side, then he could rest. His shoes dragged against the pavement as if there were leaded weights on his ankles.

It seemed like an eternity had passed until his feet brushed the stones of the bridge. Two raised slabs flanked its deck, and he shuffled cautiously to the one on his left. Black water ran smoothly beneath his feet, peppered with a few bubbly spots where the river hit a rock. He stepped up to get a better view.

Big mistake.

His legs shook, and he tumbled right into the river.

\---

The first thing he felt was the cold.

The second was the pain.

As his head broke through the waves, a piercing pang hit the side of his abdomen, reminding him that he had been running for God-knows-how-long. He spat out a mouthful of water. It tasted like sewage. Retching, he tried to paddle himself to shore, but the current kept pushing him back. He reached out, but his hand caught nothing but water. Rafael tried to kick his legs, but they had seized up from the icy grip of the river. His fingers were numb and his teeth chattered, but _he had to keep going_.

He felt so _helpless_. He was suspended in a thick, viscous shadow that threatened to swallow him whole. Around him, the reflections of stars danced tauntingly, dizzying him like the light thrown by a many-faceted diamond. Water got in his ears, muffling his senses. He was in a waking nightmare; earth and sky fought for dominance everywhere he looked, kaleidoscopes of purest ebony and midnight blue. 

He wondered if he was going to die. He wasn’t ready to die. He had just gotten his first taste of sweet, sweet freedom, a bird learning to stretch its wings and soar. If they found his dead body washed up in an inlet, would anyone mourn for him? Certainly Will and his mother would. His aunt, too. Maybe they would even pay a priest to bless his sinner’s heart at his funeral. But he could imagine what his father would say. _“What a weak boy. What a shame. What a waste.”_

He forced his arms to move. Then his legs. Eventually, the ground started to slope upward, and one limb at a time, he crawled to the riverbank.

Once he had gotten to dry land, he was able to take in how absolutely drenched he was. His face was wet, and he didn’t know whether it was from his tears, his sweat, or his surprise dip in the river.

Bile climbed up his throat and before he could realize what was happening, he threw up. For the first time, he was aware of how empty his stomach was. Usually by now, he would have been stuffed full of sumptuous lamb roast, grilled vegetables, and sweet fruit tarts. His mouth watered just thinking about the delicious dinner he would have enjoyed at the mansion. But he had come so far already, and he was not about to scamper back into the vise-like clutches of his father. And judging from the way he had gotten shot at, his father wanted nothing to do with him. It was just him against the world, he supposed.

“Hey, you! What are you doing here after curfew?”

Rafael squinted as a bright light flashed in his eyes. Holding a hand up to block the glare, he said, “What?”

The light moved away, and he could see two navy-uniformed officers, a whippet-thin man and a woman with hair like black wires. They both had guns resting against their hips, but at least they weren’t pointed at him.

“Where are your parents? Have you got any?” the man asked.

“I-” He coughed violently. His lungs were full of sand.

The man scoffed, turning to his partner. “These damn orphans keep popping up everywhere. I swear, they’re like weeds.” Then, facing Rafael again, he jerked his thumb behind him. “Come on. Out. Off the shore. We don’t have all night.”

Rafael was confused now. “What?” he repeated.

The woman curled her lip in disdain. “Are you dense? He told you to leave.” She scrunched her nose as if he were a particularly dirty dog that had just tracked mud on her carpet.

“Why? I haven’t done anything wrong!”

The officers exchanged twin looks of disbelief. Rolling her eyes, the woman reached for her walkie-talkie. “This is Officer Castael. Bringing in a juvenile delinquent on the charge of trespassing with Delmorgan.”

“Trespassing?!”

Quick as lightning, the male officer, Delmorgan, had pinned his arms behind his back and was moving to handcuff him. Gripping his shoulder roughly, Delmorgan pulled him along like a paper doll. Lazily, he said, “The beach is private property, and the property of someone _very_ influential. Of course, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

Rafael’s mind was groggy, but weren’t his rights supposed to be read first? What about his right to an attorney? And wasn’t it wrong for them to arrest him when it was clear he had no idea he had committed a crime? How did they manage to graduate from the police academy? What topsy-turvy world had he washed up in? But he was too tired to complain. Besides, a jail cell sounded better than the streets.

As they dragged him away, Rafael looked up at the sky blankly. It was the same sky he had gazed at every night, but everything else had changed. In the eyes of the world, he was no longer Rafael Hawkes, the proud and preening son of Captain Stefan Hawkes, former general of the Royal Army. He was just Rafael, a boy with a clean slate.

Castael and Delmorgan stopped, and Rafael lifted his chin to see what was happening. They were only a stone’s throw away from the beach, and he doubted they would have arrived at the police station so quickly.

“Redcliff!” Castael called out. A man in a deep plum suit was walking toward them. He seemed out of place in the dreary grayscape, a peacock in a tundra.

“Evening, officers!” Redcliff tipped his bowler hat, which matched his suit. “What seems to be the commotion?”

Smirking, Castael said, “We found this kid trespassing on your beach. We’re bringing him to the station.”

Redcliff peered at him. Rafael shifted uncomfortably as the officers lifted his elbows.

“There must be some mistake,” Redcliff said. “That’s my nephew you’re harassing.”

“Nephew?” Castael and Delmorgan questioned, their mouths forming large ‘o’s in confusion. Rafael was too dumbfounded to say anything. He had never seen that man before in his life. There was no way he was his uncle. Sure, they were both blond, but the similarities ended there. Redcliff had a jovial, round face with a curly beard that fell to his sternum. When he spoke, two dimples formed at the curves of his mouth. He looked like Saint Nicholas’s younger, more fashionable brother. On the other hand, all of the Hawkes men were built the same: straight hair, straight cheekbones, and straight backs. 

“Yes, he told me he was going outside for some fresh air, but I didn’t imagine he’d be going for a swim!” Redcliff exclaimed, laughing good-naturedly. “Come on, let’s get you into some dry clothes.” He crooked a finger to Rafael. Rafael hesitated slightly then stepped away from the officers. They looked embarrassed, but Redcliff moved forward, shaking their hands enthusiastically. 

“I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” Redcliff told them. “I really appreciate your service.” He put his index finger to his lips in a “shush” motion, and Rafael could see that he had pressed thick wads of cash into their palms. The three adults nodded at one another, then set off on their own ways.

When the cops were out of earshot, Redcliff patted him on the back in a fatherly sort of way. “I wasn’t kidding about the dry clothes. Greychapel winters are brutal.”

Rafael didn’t budge. He stood still, rivulets running off of his soaked shirt and shorts. “Why are you helping me?” he rasped, glaring at his savior. 

Redcliff smiled. “You’re like me. A survivor. A gambler. And the first rule of poker and of life is knowing when to place your bets.”

“You’re betting on me? I’m not a racehorse.” Rafael frowned.

“Of course you’re not, but there’s something special about you, kid.” Redcliff’s eyes glittered like the reflection of candlelight. “How would you like to join a circus?”

**Author's Note:**

> > rafael: i'm starting to get the feeling that you hate me.  
> me: [hastily covering up my board that says "new ways to torture rafael"] oh? what makes you say that?
> 
> hey luvs! thanks for reading the first chapter of snake eyes, “five of spades”, aka “rich white boy learns that life is hard”, aka “weary william take 2: recalcitrant rafael”. i’m very pleased with all of the foreshadowing and symbolism scattered about this fic, so keep a (snake) eye out for that. ;D there are also a couple of rather obscure hamilton references, so hats off to you if you caught them!
> 
> the official theme songs for this fic are [cold cold cold - cage the elephant](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJx7Et20OI0) and [seventeen - marina](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FmAClXHK52U). i had a hard time narrowing it down to just two, but i felt that their lyrics and vibes fit snake eyes best. :>>
> 
> feel free to leave a comment/kudos if you’re enjoying the clownery! ;)
> 
> xox,  
> grace


End file.
